Boreal Nightmare
by AdmiralCats
Summary: A mission to a frozen forested planet to rescue lost explorers turns into a mission to find one of their own for the Colonial Marines. What seemed like a simple task ends up turning complicated when their android attaché Bishop is lost and then found with a group of small, masked humanoids, who have survived the harsh elements of the planet, and attacks by the Xenomorph.
1. Chapter 1

When I came out of hypersleep over LV-400, I honestly wondered if any of the other Marines had the same exact stupid dream I did.

Come on. I can't jot down my dream right here; that's no way to start a story. Is it? Oh, well, I didn't stick around long enough for the USCM to give us grunts a course in creative writing during boot camp, and frankly, I don't care.

Truth be told, though, this is my journal, and I write down whatever I want. Even if it's gibberish. Even if it's a dream about our upcoming mission.

From what we were told about LV-400 before being shipped off in a transport from Gateway Station, the planet is one big ball of ice, covered in pine forests and mountains, except for the polar regions, which have been referred to as "cold, desert hells" for a good reason. So a couple of dumbass explorers got stuck in a blizzard the size of a hurricane. That's our mission: go find them and bring them back.

Anyway, the dream I had was like those dreams where you're trying to get out of something and you just can't for some reason. I was lugging my smartgun through the snow, and I was slowed down by my gear, my weapon, and, of course, the Goddamn snow. I heard shrieking behind me, and I couldn't tell if it was human or not.

Whatever, right? It was just a dream. Just the pre-mission jitters.

From that extremely brief briefing, we were headed to the mess hall for some stale pieces of cornbread and even staler cereal that I wouldn't feed to a pet mouse. They claim this shit's supposed to help with, you know, bowel movements, but all it does is constipate you. Space transport food is one step below boot camp food.

I guess since I've gotten into the habit of keeping a journal, I should do more than just complain and bitch. I've been in this unit for about two years, and you might be a little surprised to know that . . . I barely know anybody.

Well, not intimately. Other than Vasquez, but that's only because we were in boot camp together. We were also in juvie together, but . . . I'm not quite ready to talk about that, even to myself. The only thing I will say is that Vasquez and I got close. Really close, and closer still. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Probably the only good thing to come out of the last five fucking years of my life.

We were assigned to this particular unit right out of smartgun training, and my first impression was less than stellar.

Our sergeant is the type of guy who will put you in your place if you're fucking around. However, Apone's also the type of sergeant you wish they made more of, because he seems to genuinely care about his Marines. He's more laid back than he'd care to admit, but that doesn't mean he lets us do whatever we want. I know I've never gotten on his bad side, because I'm too shy to do anything out of place. What surprises me is how some of the nuts in here haven't made him consider a transfer yet. Then again, they've probably been here since the beginning, so he's had time to get used to them and not give two fucks anymore.

One of those nuts just happens to be the biggest nut of them all. I have never in my entire life met a man as insane as this one. You just can't use one word, or two words, or even three to describe our combat technician.

Yes, you read that right; Private Will Hudson is our fucking combat technician. But he's nuts. He's loud, obnoxious, shallow, and not to mention really gross. He has two functions; one is to pick up chicks at every bar he visits, and the other is to eat. I shit you not, Hudson is a bottomless pit when it comes to picking up whores and eating every chicken wing the bar has in stock. Truthfully, I don't think the two go together, but, then again, if Hudson's paying the chicks for a "job," then I guess it doesn't matter how disgusting he is.

I didn't think Hudson had any odd dreams about the mission, judging by how talkative he was at breakfast.

Moving right along, we have Hudson's usual partner-in-crime, Private Frost. Frost is our weapons expert. If you need something that goes boom, he's your guy. I must reiterate that he hangs out with Hudson, but I will admit that he's a much sharper tool than Hudson will ever be. Unless he and Hudson start talking about their one-night stands, then I want to leave the room.

After Frost is Private Wierzbowski. Wierzbowski was assigned as my combat partner. Basically, he holds extra bullets and guards my ass in the field. He is definitely the guy you want guarding your ass. Everyone who meets him says they're a little intimidated by him at first, because, well, he's a big guy. He's got broad shoulders and he's one of the tallest guys in the squad. He's also very capable of throwing a grown man across a room without breaking a sweat. How do I know? He did it to some loser who got in a fight with Hudson (at a bar, of course), and busted his face up real good. On the flipside, Wierzbowski is quiet. He rarely talks to anyone, and he seems like he's got a lot going on in his mind. Definitely strikes me as the type who won't say a word unless he's got something really important to say. Then again, he also seems like the type who'll keep his mouth shut because he's just that fucking timid.

Both Wierzbowski and Private Crowe are Brits from a transfer unit. Crowe's our mechanic, and spends most of his day with his head wedged in some crevice or another in the APC. He's a bit more talkative than Wierzbowski, but I tend to ignore him whenever he starts talking about whatever girlfriend he's currently on, because I really don't give a flying, farting fuck.

As the mechanic, Crowe can work on the powerloader if he wants to, but the unit's powerloader operator, Private Spunkmeyer, is fiercely protective of that piece of machinery. Why? I don't know.

Spunkmeyer hails from Manhattan. How do I know? Because he doesn't shut the fuck up about it. He's got the thick "New Yawk" accent and all, and he will defend his city's pizza no matter what. Not even joking with that one. However, Spunkmeyer isn't without his merits, because he's the dropship co-pilot and weapons officer. He gets to play with all the cool toys that dropship can fire, and he's saved our asses a few times, so, I can't be too pissy with him, even though he's a little insane and really annoying.

Our dropship's pilot is Corporal Ferro. She's pretty much the only other person in the unit I've never had an issue with, even though we don't talk much. She's cute, in her own way. I've caught her looking in my direction once or twice since I got here, especially when I'm working out bare-chested in the gym. At least _somebody_ thinks I look good.

Compared to the opposite of our medtech, Corporal Dietrich. I swear, this woman is half demon. Not one person in the unit likes her that much. None. If you look at her wrong, she'll yell at you. If you talk when she's treating you, she'll yell at you. If you accidentally mess up the way she has her equipment and pill bottles set up, oh my God, I wouldn't blame you if you think she's gonna kill you. The only plus to Dietrich is that she knows what she's doing when treating you, even though her bedside manner is atrocious. She doesn't seem to like us, either, because she spends her freetime hiding in sick bay or her room, and I guess that's just how she likes it.

Last, but certainly not least, we have the squad's second-in-command, Corporal Hicks. Good ol' southern boy, straight from Alabama. Like Wierzbowski, he's really quiet, but at least he speaks up more often than not. I mean, he kinda has to, because it's his job. He yells more often than Apone, and I've heard horror stories that Hicks's methods of discipline can go overboard if you piss him off at the wrong time. I haven't seen that, though. He seems way too subdued for any of that to be true.

I was picking at what I assumed to be oatmeal when Hudson's happy-ass voice disrupted my thoughts with this stupid statement: "Guess what we get for this mission, man?" he chirped, before holding up a pair of blue gloves. "Fuzzy mittens!"

Vasquez, who was sitting next to me, began slow-clapping. "Oh, wow," she said, sarcastically. "Winter gear for a mission on a winter world. Fucking amazing."

"And we get fuzzy scarves, too, man!"

"Sit down and eat, Hudson!" Apone shouted from the other end of the table. "You'll all get your winter gear when we get ready to drop."

"Where the fuck did you get those anyway?" I asked.

"I brought 'em," Hudson replied. "I don't see why you wouldn't bring fuzzy mittens to a cold planet anyways."

"It's called 'common sense,' dumbass."

Hudson, still smiling, sat down at the table and gestured to Frost. "You like regular gloves or the closed-finger mittens, man?"

"You can't do anything in mittens, dude," Frost replied, shaking his head and laughing.

"At least they're not as pointless as fingerless gloves," Spunkmeyer snorted. "Those're useless in the cold."

A little self-consciously, I looked down at the black fingerless gloves I was wearing. I knew I'd be swapping them out for thermal gloves, but damn if I didn't feel a little useless myself.

* * *

We were in orbit of LV-400 when we got suited up to drop into the planet's atmosphere. I was still thinking about the dream I had, and although I had repeatedly dismissed dreams as bullcrap before, there was still an uncertainty surrounding it.

"You look like you're actually thinking for once, Drake."

I looked over to see Vasquez picking up her smartgun. "I'm not thinking," I said. "At least, not about anything important."

"Your eyes got glazed over for a minute," she replied. "Come on, it's just me; what were you thinking about?"

"I was thinking about . . ." Oh, what the hell, she'll probably think it's crap, too. "Just a dream I had in cryo."

"About what?"

"About where we're going and what we're doing. It's just a big Arctic hellhole. Why should I be having weird dreams about it?"

"Are you worried?"

"No, of course not. We'll go in, get those explorers out, and then go home. Nothing to be worried about or afraid of." I strapped on my chestplate, continuing to make myself look like I wasn't nervous or scared. Why am I scared, though? Why do I just have this bizarre feeling of impending doom? It was probably a combination of the aftereffects of cryosleep and the crappy food messing with my stomach.

Well, we didn't have time to start talking about feelings and shit, because we heard Apone shouting that "you sweethearts" needed to get our asses in gear and on the dropship right then and there.

In the dropship, we were strapped in tightly so we didn't smack our skulls against the overhead, and there was no way of seeing out into space and down at the planet we were about to descend upon.

Bishop had informed us that the landing zone was going to be enveloped in a blizzard in a matter of hours, giving us a limited window of opportunity to drop. I still wonder if the emotion coding or whatever it is they're calling it now allows androids to feel anxious, or fear, or something. I know they can detect when humans are scared or anxious, but I don't know if they're capable of feeling it themselves.

Up front, Ferro and Spunkmeyer were doing whatever it is they do before a drop, and once Apone informed them everyone was in tight, Ferro began the countdown. Hudson was all cheery and cocky, like always. As soon as we got the weather report, he yelled, "Let it snow, baby!" and decided to yell that again as the dropship began careening through the atmosphere of LV-400.

I've done plenty of drops before. Each time, it feels like your stomach and intestines detach from the muscles holding them in their cavities and fly up into your throat. Hell, I threw up my first drop, got really nauseous the second one, and now I just feel everything in my gut is floating. Not a pleasant feeling.

Once we were in the atmosphere, Ferro scouted out the coordinates we were set to land at, as close to the last known location of the explorers. God only knows where they are now, and whether or not they're dead or alive.

"Ain't that spectacular," Spunkmeyer said, letting out a low whistle as we flew over a mountain range. There was nothing but snow and ice. Nothing. Just snow, ice, and taiga forests. A boreal nightmare.

No one really expected the snow to be so tightly packed against the ground, so instead of having a relatively soft landing, we bounced a little, and I felt the contents of my stomach move uncomfortably. When the ship stopped, I was certain I was going to be sick. Even though they tried to train us to get used to this, I never really did, so I had to do my final test on an empty stomach. As soon as we were let off, Dietrich thrust a bag in my hands so I could throw up. Fucking embarrassing on my part.

There were no lifeforms in the area, aside from us. And the trees, if you count that. We left the dropship with our weapons and equipment, and saw we had arrived in a literal world of ice and snow. The only plant life seemed to be the massive pines and firs standing in front of us, and to the left of the dropship was a vast frozen lake, untouched, like a fresh sheet of paper. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, but Ferro gently reminded us we had a limited time before a blizzard would trap us in the dropship for a few hours, so we began loading up the snowmobiles with equipment.

Wierzbowski swung his leg over the machine. He looked over his shoulder as I sat in the rear-facing seat behind him. "Doing alright, mate?"

"Fine. Let's get this over with," I grunted. I was not looking forward to riding backwards. It's just . . . a weird feeling. That's the best way I can describe it. The cold was stinging my cheeks and drying out my eyes, which prompted tears to form. God, I don't want to look like I'm crying.

Other than the cold wind, the only sound in the forest was the snowmobile motors. All I had to do with sit with my gun ready, although there was a very, very low chance we were going to get shot at today. Wierzbowski was doing all the work here.

We did stop at the last-known coordinates of the explorers, and we got off the snowmobiles to look around. "I got something, man!" Hudson shouted, looking down at his motion tracker.

I thought this was it; we found those damn explorers and we can get out of here, but then Bishop rained on our parade: "It's a bird."

We all looked up to see a little white bird perched on a frosted tree branch. It chirped, then flew away. I wasn't sure who I wanted to smack more, Hudson or Bishop.

Aside from birds and mice, it seemed like this planet was untouched by anything that could develop civilization. I don't see how anyone could develop civilization here; the average temperature is two degrees, there are no sources of food, and the ground is probably so frozen that you can't farm here.

The pine forest became more dense as we pressed forward, until we were almost in the dark. We split up at some point, staying within radio contact of each other. The animals here weren't interpreting us as threats at all, and they seemed genuinely interested in us, but so far, we hadn't encountered anything larger than a weasel. Eventually, we all stopped again to search.

"Hey, do any of you feel like you're being watched?" Hudson asked over our headsets.

We could see him and Hicks a few yards away through the trees. Wierzbowski looked at me, and I just shrugged. "No, why?" I replied.

"I don't know, man. I just feel like we're being watched."

"What does your tracker say?"

"There's something in one of the trees next to us, man."

I stared up into the tree. Sure enough, there was a squirrel, gnawing on some kind of nut that manages to grow here.

"There's two squirrels up there, I guess man," Hudson said, tilting his head a little as he looked.

I looked up again, but I didn't see a second squirrel. Way above the squirrel were two glowing red dots, and then the dots began to move. "That's not a squirrel," I hissed.

"What is it?"

"I don't know." I angled my smartgun upward, then saw the dots vanish. "Just a second ago, there were two little red dots. They're gone now." I turned to the others, expecting them to think I was crazy.

"Probably nothing. Maybe an albino squirrel." Hudson shrugged.

"Everything's albino here," Vasquez muttered.

Bishop started, "Technically, albinism-"

"I didn't want an explanation!"

* * *

There came a time where we couldn't go on any further because the blizzard was going to be over our area soon, and we had to hurry back to the dropship and hunker down for several hours. I was upset, and I think everyone else was upset, that we didn't find the explorers. On board the dropship, Apone handed out our rations, and we could hear wind start to batter against the hull.

"We've got enough supplies to last two weeks," Apone was saying. "I think we're gonna find two frozen corpses next time we go out there."

"Do you think we could've landed closer to their last known coordinates?" Crowe asked.

"We landed as close as possible," Ferro replied. "You _were_ at their last known coordinates. There was no way of telling what direction they went in, and it didn't look like they stayed in that area."

"Is there any way of covering more ground?" I asked.

"The ship won't be able to take off," Spunkmeyer said. "The wind's picking up and you can't see an inch in front of your face out there, not mention we might have to dig our way out and dig out the ship."

We sat, eating, and listening to the wind outside. There really wasn't anything to do, so we pretty much went to different parts of the dropship to sit and lounge and try to nap a little.

I still didn't think the red dots were from an animal. Even if there was an albino squirrel or something like that, it was way too far up for a thing that small to be noticed. I know Hudson said he felt like he was being watched, and you generally don't feel like you're being watched by a little woodland animal (unless you're afraid of squirrels).

I managed to fall asleep for a few hours, and when I woke up, I didn't hear the wind anymore. Standing up and leaving my weapon where it was, I went to the cockpit to look outside. The sun was out again, and a layer of fresh snow covered the area. Luckily, we weren't buried, but that didn't mean we didn't have issues. When I saw Bishop, I said, "Are we going back out there?"

"Soon. Right now, we've lost communication with the transport," Bishop replied, "I'm going out to fix the antenna." He opened the hatch, taking a toolbox and folding ladder. "I should be back in two hours or so."

At first, I thought nothing of what he was doing, but that was until more than two hours passed.

"So, we have to wait for Bishop to fix the comms before we can go back out and look for the explorers, man?" Hudson asked.

"Yeah, I guess," I said. "He said it would only take two hours."

"It's been three." Vasquez held up three fingers.

"So it's taking a while. No problem."

"Jesus Christ, Drake, if you're gonna be that way, _you_ go out and check on Bishop. Something could've happened."

"Fine. I'll go check on him. Still pretty sure that this is just taking a long time." I put on my armor before throwing open the hatch and stepping outside. The weather hadn't changed much; there was little wind, but it was enough to blow the newly fallen snow around. I noticed that small dunes had formed on the frozen lake, which basically looked like a white desert. I started climbing up the ladder, and saw nothing on top of the dropship. The antenna looked fixed, but there was no toolbox and no android.

Alright, this is fucking wonderful. We're on an ice planet, we haven't completed the task, and our freaking android disappears. Wait till USCM Command hears about this; they're going to be really pissed when they find out he's gone AWOL.

There's no way he's gone AWOL. No way. No, there's gotta be some kind of programming in his milk-filled innards that keeps him from running away. Unless he's defective, which is possible. Then again, he mentioned that a lot of the problems with older models were fixed when he was built, but, let's be real, it's still possible he broke somehow, or the cold messed with him.

After searching around the dropship, I stormed back inside, saying, "Bishop's gone."

"What do you mean, 'Bishop's gone?'" Vasquez asked, giving me a dirty look.

"I mean, he's gone. Not on the roof, not in the immediate surrounding area. He's gone."

"Maybe he just wandered off for a walk or something, man," Hudson suggested.

"Oh, come on, Bishop's an android, not a kid with an attention disorder." Vasquez rolled her eyes. "I don't think he'd wander off. I think we have to come to a bad conclusion and say he was kidnapped by something."

"You really want to jump to _that_ conclusion, Private?" Apone asked.

"Honestly, I _don't_ want to, but there's no way Bishop would just drop whatever he was doing to go for a walk. Something obviously got their hands on him."

Looking at the rest of us and shaking his head, Apone snarled, "Alright, let's get out there and find Bishop. I'll tell you one thing; whoever took him is going to kick a swift kick in the ass."

* * *

 _Author's Note: It has been roughly two years since I first published "Boreal Nightmare" to this site. I say this a lot, but I really mean it when I say I didn't expect this story to blossom into a full-fledged series. "Boreal Nightmare" was originally going to be just a one-shot in the Aliens universe. I was very new to the franchise at the time, and I did "play it safe" when it came to various elements within the story, almost like a checkbox. Xenomorphs? Check. Weyland-Yutani? Check. Colonial Marines? Check._

 _While I did follow the typical Alien formula, I put my own spin on it. And people loved it. The reception of the story was enough for me to continue writing Drake's story._

 _I veered away from the typical Alien formula to focus on what I really, really wanted, which was a psychological character drama. I ran with that idea and the primary focus became Drake's battle with himself, his post-traumatic stress. I originally didn't want to go that route because of how many stories out there try to deal with mental illness and don't do it properly. I plunged into doing as much research as I could, and I'm still doing research today._

 _The spinoffs came from when I wrote that portion of Hicks's backstory in "Lost Cause." There was more I wanted to write, and I couldn't cram it into one of Drake's diaries, so I decided to do something different entirely. After "White Noise," I pursued the other Marines, giving them the spotlight and developing them beyond what I can do within the limitations of Drake's perspective._

 _It was largely inevitable that someone would eventually ask if I wanted to do a rewrite of Aliens where everyone survives. I did, but going about it was challenging, and I almost dropped the idea until a reviewer for "Perpetual Storm," Denal Douglas, presented me with a beautiful summary for a rewrite of the film, all with two elements from the original changed; no Burke, and a competent Gorman. The end result of "Ice Star" became one of my favorite projects, and the basis for the rest of the series._

 _The inclusion of "Ice Star" meant that certain things in previous books would have to change to make this new timeline fit seamlessly. Over the last several months, Denal Douglas and I put our heads together to edit the series. Most of what you'll see in "Boreal Nightmare" and what comes after were his ideas, as are the new book covers._

 _There's still a lot more to come with Drake and the other Marines in terms of the books, so I hope everyone sticks around to enjoy._


	2. Chapter 2

Apone didn't think it was a good idea for me to go out and search for Bishop by myself. You just don't send a smartgunner off alone. We're the big guns, but the big gun comes with a price of slower movement and visibility. A hostile could pick us off fairly easily if our combat partner doesn't pick them off first.

Then again, a part of me wanted to point out that this wasn't exactly a planet in control by any hostile forces, so why go out armed with a smartgun anyway? I have a pistol strapped under my armor. Apone shut that down by saying we really don't know what kind of wildlife lives here. We could run into something fully adapted to the shitty conditions here, and that something might be big and capable of ripping us all apart. You know, something that might need more than a 9-millimeter pistol to kill.

At least I'd be going out with Vasquez. There's a plus. It'd be me, the big fella Wierzbowski, Vasquez, and Crowe, her combat partner. The others were staying behind just in case Bishop wandered back.

Was that going to happen? I highly doubt it. Absolutely highly doubt it.

We got out the snowmobiles again, and headed down the same path we took when we landed. The paths had a fresh layer of snow over them, completely covering our previous snowmobile tracks and footprints. As we rode, I started to wonder if Bishop's disappearance had anything to do with the little red dots I saw when we first searched here.

That was stupid. Those little red dots were probably nothing but a trick of the light, or maybe my laser sights were on by accident . . . but how would there be two dots if that was the case? They weren't moving around quickly, in fact, they seemed perfectly still, like they really were eyes watching us.

After riding into the woods a mile away from the dropship, we dismounted the snowmobiles and started scouring the area, searching for signs of the explorers and Bishop. Frustration was creating a knot in my chest, and then I turned to face Vasquez and the others. "What do we do? What the fuck do we do?! We're gonna get thrown out of the Marines because we lost a Goddamn android!"

"Oh, relax, Drake, he has to be around here somewhere!" Vasquez shouted. "Don't get your underpants in a knot just because we haven't found him yet. It's only been a few hours, and he can't have gotten far."

"That depends on what happened," Crowe said, "if he was kidnapped, he may be thousands of miles away."

"Don't say that! Just don't say that!" I yelled. _We can't fail this mission. We just can't fail this mission-_

Crowe looked a little appalled at my explosion. "What? I'm being the logical one, here. It's entirely possible we're in a sector controlled by pirates or smugglers and we just don't know it yet."

Unimpressed with me, Vasquez gestured to Crowe and turned toward another path. "Drake, I'm going on without you if you're going to argue with everyone." With that, Wierzbowski and I followed her and Crowe, into the denser parts of the forest.

Like earlier, it got darker, until we turned to a previously unexplored path and began walking through an area that was a lot less dense. It was quiet, aside from birds chirping. Behind me, Wierzbowski sneezed.

"Bless you," Crowe said, glancing over his shoulder.

"Thanks, mate," Wierzbowski replied, quietly.

Other than that, there was silence, which gradually began to annoy the crap out of me. "We can't find those fucking explorers or Bishop," I muttered.

Vasquez turned, stern brown eyes boring into my soul with the intensity of an industrial laser. "Stop talking. You're making everything worse by assuming things."

" _I'm_ making everything worse? Your buddy here-" I pointed to Crowe, "just assumed that Bishop may've been carted off into space!"

"That wasn't an assumption!"

I was about to keep arguing with her when snow fell from a tree branch above us, landing between me and Wierzbowski. The four of us slowly looked up, expecting to see an animal, but, we were all wrong. Perched on a thick branch, staring down at us, was a very short, person-like thing wearing a gas mask, a black coat, black boots, and a helmet. A long, thin tail lashed once behind it. The eyepieces of the gas mask were glowing red, and the person tilted its head a little. It didn't appear to have any weapons.

"Don't make any sudden movements," I whispered, adjusting my grip on my smartgun. "Should I shoot it?"

"It doesn't look like it wants to hurt us," Vasquez whispered back. "Maybe it's friendly."

The person started coming down the tree, albeit slowly. It was cautious, constantly glancing back and forth as it dropped from branch to branch, until it slid down the trunk. Mind you, Vasquez and I had some pretty large weapons pointed at this little guy's face, and it didn't seem to care. It looked at all three of us, shook the snow from its head, and it . . . started . . . going . . . up to me. It held its arms in the air, and made a cooing-purring sound while gesturing to me.

"How do I know you're not going to tear my head off or something?" I said.

The person-thing trotted a little closer to me, clearly not paying attention to my smartgun barrel. It held up its arms again, cooing.

"Oh, Drake, it just wants to be held," Vasquez sighed.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"Tell you what: if it attacks you, I'll shoot it."

"Fine." I set my gun down, and lifted up the little creature. The first thing it did was take my face and massage my cheeks. I would've tossed the thing if I didn't suddenly feel so relaxed when it touched my face. It continued to massage my face and purr and coo and giggle a little, and then let go to squirm and nestle in my arms. I mean, this thing isn't exactly very cuddly; it has a helmet and gas mask on and it's wearing a black leather coat that was really cold because it was out in the elements. I also noticed it had a belt with empty holsters.

"What the hell do we do with it?" I asked.

"Maybe it knows where Bishop is?" Wierzbowski suggested softly.

"Let me hold it, Drake." Vasquez set her weapon down.

I tried handing the little guy to her, but it clearly didn't want that. It started whining and waved its arms at Vasquez like it wanted to slap her if she touched it. When I brought it closer to me, it stopped whining, and rested its head on my shoulder, trying to nuzzle my neck.

"Perhaps it thinks you're his mama," Crowe said, smiling a little.

"Who knows what it thinks?" And who gives a fuck? I set the person-thing on the ground. Again, Vasquez tried to pick it up, and it moved away from her. Crowe tried, and he was also rejected. The creature looked up at me, tugged on my pants, and pointed into the woods. "What do you want?" I asked. "You want us to follow?"

I guess it had a grasp on English, because it nodded and pointed again.

"OK. We follow you."

"Drake, what makes you think we can trust it?" Vasquez asked.

"I don't. I just think it might know where Bishop is."

"But we can't even communicate with it."

"Well, somehow it knew I was asking if it wants us to follow. I don't think we have a choice. This could be a native species, and it seems to know where it's going."

Vasquez glared at me. "If this turns out to be a trap, I'm going to shove your gun and mine up your ass."

The little guy led us to a massive clearing in the woods, at least two miles northeast of the dropship. It kept pausing to tug my pants and point, and then trotted off. When we came to a small hill, it plopped its little ass in the snow, and slid down the hill, revealing to us a series of large tents at the bottom.

There were more little guys dressed like ours, carrying logs and dead animals and what appeared to be long rifles with thin bayonets at the end. They went in and out of the tents, and talked to each other with the same cooing and purring sounds. When they saw me, Vasquez, Wierzbowski, and Crowe, they immediately paused, staring at us.

The little guy we met started chirping and squeaking to its companions, and then three more jogged over to my comrades, holding up their arms and cooing. Vasquez didn't hesitate to pick up the one near her, and just like the other one, it touched her face and massaged her cheeks. Crowe lifted up his creature, smiling at it and saying something in baby-talk to it like it was his pet. Wierzbowski seemed afraid that he'd accidentally kill his by squeezing it too hard, so he was being incredibly gentle with this person-thing. I mean, I get the feeling it's a fairly durable species. No need to treat it like an antique glass Christmas ornament, big guy.

"You're so bloody adorable, yes, you are," Crowe cooed.

The creature in his arms squealed with delight. I really don't know why he said that. We have no idea what's under those helmets and it could be something uglier than a naked Hudson. Doesn't sound so cute now, does it, Crowe?

In all honesty, I was starting to hurt inside. Here we were, wasting our time with a bunch of bipedal, gas-mask wearing . . . goofballs, when we should be looking for Bishop and those explorers.

The little guy seemed to sense that I was really disappointed. It grabbed onto my legs and started pulling itself up to my torso, wrapping its arms and legs tightly around me. I thought I was going to cry, because I was stressed, annoyed, and a little hungry. I was actually about to take the little thing and chuck it across their camp when I saw a familiar figure emerge from one of the tents.

"I knew it wouldn't be long before any of you showed up," Bishop said, carrying one of the creatures with him.

"Are you alright?" Vasquez asked. "You didn't come back from repairing the comms, and we all thought something happened."

"I know, I know, and I'm very sorry about that. I really hope none of you got too upset about that-" Bishop switched his gaze to me, seeing my Adam's apple bobbing and my face starting to turn red with a mixture of relief and anger. "Everything's alright, Drake."

I was doing everything to keep myself from exploding in frustration. I swallowed hard, trying to force everything back down my throat where it belonged.

"Drake?" Bishop gave me a quizzical look.

"I'm fine," I said. "I'm glad you're OK."

I still felt like Bishop was trying to read the inner details of my face. He adjusted the creature in his arms, letting it nuzzle his face. "These small beings might be able to help us find those explorers, but, first, they seem to really want to invite us all to some kind of dinner."

"You can understand them?" Vasquez asked.

"Not word-for-word. It's their body language that is a bit easier to understand, although I think a living person will pick up on it quicker."

So Bishop was struggling to see that I was stressed and frustrated. I couldn't tell if that was a good thing or bad thing, because I knew it would be healthier for me to just tell someone that I just wanted to find those explorers and go home. I know Bishop might not be the right . . . "person," but I think if someone outright tells him that they're feeling a certain way, he'll understand.

And then I had a masked creature hugging my torso. It looked up at me, and squawked.

"Fuck you, too," I said.

* * *

We were led into the biggest tent present. It must've been about the size of an apartment, I guessed. On either ends of the tent were small pits with burning logs in them, and in the center was a table, furnished with hare skulls, fir boughs, holly leaves, and tiny glass statues of animals. It would've looked Christmassy without the hare skulls.

The creatures had laid out a feast for us. Roasted pheasant, fried rabbit, venison steak, seasoned potato wedges, and sliced carrots soaked in honey. We were also given glass goblets of water and a dark-red drink that we all guessed was some kind of alcohol. They didn't say a word until we had filled our plates.

Bishop was explaining that these creatures were extremely friendly to humans-or at least anything that looked human. When he was out on the top of the dropship, one of these little guys wandered in our area, and, after spotting Bishop, decided to climb up the ladder and approach him.

"And you were dumb enough to follow it?" I asked with my mouth full.

"No. He was getting frustrated over the fact that he couldn't detect an aura," Bishop replied. "He kept pressing my cheeks and then started pinching my face. Finally, he pats me on the head and points in the direction of this site. I figured I wouldn't be gone very long, but, that didn't happen. The rest of them were a little nervous because they were like, 'It looks human, walks like a human, but it's not _feeling_ like a human.' One of them pulled his bayonet and pricked my finger. They saw the white blood, and went absolutely nuts. I had no idea what they were going to do next, until their leader goes up to the creature that found me, took his rifle, and smacked my head with it. Then, they start cheering." Bishop shrugged. "I guess that's how they bond with artificial persons."

"So, let me get this straight," I started, "when they touch your face, they're trying to do what?"

"Sense your aura. That's how they bond with you. Once they touch you and sense your aura, they're bonded with you for life."

"And how did you figure this out? They can't talk."

"No, but they've interacted with humans and androids before. Weyland-Yutani sent people here when this planet was first found, but the conditions here are so bad that not many studies in the wild have been conducted."

"No captive studies have been done, then?" Crowe asked, taking a sip of that dark-red drink. I don't think it was alcohol. It was really tart, but I wasn't getting a buzz or anything.

By going into his data banks, Bishop started explaining what he knew had been published by scientists that came here. Look . . . I really don't care. We're not going to be staying here. We _shouldn't_ be staying here. We have one job, and we're not completing it.

I ended up excusing myself from the table and going outside. Night had fallen and Apone was probably wondering where the hell we were. I mean, we found Bishop. We should go back to the dropship and form a new plan to find those explorers, not mess around with an alien species unless they're going to help us. We don't even know if they can or will help us.

I didn't feel like going back into the tent to listen to Bishop's lecture. A hot knot started forming in my stomach. In the cold, it was much easier to feel, and it was pulling itself tighter and tighter the more frustrated I got.

It was actually starting to hurt, but I think that was because I was full and I wasn't letting my body digest what I'd just ate. I honestly started to feel like a failure at that point.

In two years, I had closed myself off, and didn't talk to anyone except Vasquez. In two years, I've tried not to think about what's been bothering me. Two years . . .

I thought this was my chance to not feel like a failure anymore, and here I am, feeling like everything is going down the drain. This has got to be one of the simplest missions we've ever been assigned, and we're fucking it up.

Are we fucking it up, or am I just overreacting? I think I'm overreacting. Then again, I'm wondering if the others are thinking about how unlikely it is we'll find the explorers alive. In these conditions, unless they found a cave and know how to make fire, there's no way they're alive. It would be a miracle if they were. Frankly, I'm going to feel like we failed if we find them dead, but at the same time, this felt pointless from the start.

I looked up. LV-400 has two moons instead of one. They were both clear and full. I imagined they were just as cold and inhospitable as LV-400 itself, probably even worse.

Not wanting to stray too far from the tent, I sat on an icy rock near the center of the camp. The creature we met in the forest had left the tent as well, and crept up to me. He put his mask close to my leg, and I assumed he was sniffing me. "What do you want?" I grunted at him.

He looked at me, and tilted his head, not making a sound.

"Unless you can tell me where those explorers are, I really don't want your company," I said.


	3. Chapter 3

If Bishop were human, I would feel as if he was lying and hiding something from us (with malicious reasons) about Weyland-Yutani's intentions with LV-400. I've already mentioned that my position doesn't entitle me to any kind of knowledge he or the company has, but the feeling of this mission being a failure from the start was beginning to piss me off.

I don't want to fail. I don't want to fail at being a Marine. I don't want to fail at _simply living_. I already did that. Whether or not I'm turning myself around or just channeling my emotions into something more healthy is a different question that I don't know how to answer, and probably never will.

I know where my boundaries are, and I can't cross them, or else I could get a dishonorable discharge. I could get sent back to prison. Something worse could be in store for me. Hell, if androids are being perfected, there's a possibility some scientist out there figured out how to wipe human memories, and I don't want that.

I stared into the hollow sockets of one of the hare skulls on the table, feeling full and sleepy from the food we were given by these gas-mask creatures. There were so many questions I had about them, mainly about what was under their helmets, but each time the one we encountered in the forest sat on my lap, and I put my hand near the base of where the helmet and gas mask were connected, the little shit squirmed and pushed my hand away with an annoyed coo.

Bishop said the only thing he really knew was that these creatures bond with humans through touch, and once one bonds with you, this thing is your friend for life. They will not allow another human to touch them, and they can quickly read your emotions and act on them. I found that out the hard way when I was getting frustrated earlier; the little shit climbed up my legs and wrapped his arms and legs around my torso, thinking hugs solve everything.

It's not his fault he doesn't really know what's going.

There was no way we were going to get back to the dropship before sundown, and so the gas-mask creatures showed us some tents we could sleep in. Each tent had a small bed covered in thick furs, as well as a pillow full of feathers. I set my weapon on the ground, laying in the bed and hoping to get some sleep.

I did sleep for a few hours, until I could hear something walking around in my tent. My senses were still fuzzy when I sat up, making out the gas-mask creature squatting next to my smartgun and touching it. He looked at me, and made a squeaky chattering sound before rubbing the barrel of the weapon.

"What the hell are you doing in here? Shouldn't you be in bed?" I asked.

I think I'm going to call him Little Shit, because even though he's been nice, he's irritating. So, yeah, his name's Little Shit now.

Anyway, Little Shit kept staring at me. He then stood up, and hopped on the bed, expecting me to cuddle him or something.

"I'm trying to sleep," I said. "Get out."

He knocked on my chestplate.

"I don't know what you want, now, shoo." I tried turning away and laying my head on the pillow, but I could feel him staring at me, and it's really uncomfortable considering that he's wearing a mask and I can't read his face.

He finally left, but about twenty minutes later, as I began drifting off again, I could smell peanut butter. Again, I sat up, and saw Little Shit standing in my tent, holding a plate with toast covered in peanut butter.

"I'm still full from dinner, stupid."

Well, he didn't seem to care. He took my hand and pulled on it, gesturing to go outside. I figured this was the only way to get him to leave me alone, so I followed him.

The whole camp was very quiet. I knew the only other person not sleeping was Bishop, but God only knows what he was doing at this hour. I mean, what do androids do when they're bored and it's two o'clock in the morning? Can they get bored? Maybe they ask themselves dumb questions and then try to answer them.

Anyway, I followed Little Shit around the campsite, until we came to another tent. He opened the tent flap, and I saw a large hole in the ground. He then pointed to the hole, and crawled in.

The hole was a claustrophobe's worst nightmare. I got on my stomach and crawled into it, seeing the tight part of the tunnel didn't last very long. As I pulled myself out of the small part, I found I could stand, or at least hunch over, and continued following Little Shit.

The tunnel continued to expand as we moved deeper underground. Soon, the walls were no longer dirt, but stone, and there was artwork covering them. I saw what I guess was the history of these little creatures, as well as symbols, faces, animals, trees, and snow.

I also figured that these creatures knew that humans would be down here, so there was not one image of what they look like with their helmets off.

I paused a bit to really examine what I was seeing, because a lot of this artwork was getting gradually stranger as we got further underground. I saw paintings of these creatures gathered around two humans, then I saw one of those humans was actually an android. The android must've been one of the earlier models, because the gas-mask creatures didn't respond too well to it. They seemed afraid, the complete opposite of how they responded to Bishop.

Slightly above the interactions with this human and android was an image of three of the creatures gathered around a green egg-like object. The next image showed the egg was opened, and one of the creatures being attacked in the face by a flesh-colored spider-like thing. The next several images that followed showed a worm with teeth bursting bloodily from the gas-mask creature, and changing into a hulking, black monster with a long, smooth head, razor-sharp teeth, and a long tail with a sharp tip, which it used to slaughter the gas-mask creatures, one by one.

The sequence of images turned out to be a whole story in the past of these creatures. The human they encountered was also attacked by one of the spiders, and, subsequently, had one of the monsters come out of his chest. The android . . . well, the android was brutalized by the gas-mask creatures. Violently ripped apart, white blood covered the stone wall, his parts strewn across the landscape. He did something that set these things off.

On the ceiling, I saw a war break out between the monsters and the little creatures, with the creatures emerging victorious, but at a terrible cost.

Honestly, it didn't look like they had a choice.

And I was beginning to regret naming my friend "Little Shit." The name still fits because I'm pretty sure he's going to do something that's going to piss me off. I followed him into a massive, hollowed-out chamber, and saw hundreds, maybe thousands, of these gas-mask creatures, going about their lives. There were several floors below us, and every single floor was surrounding a large fire, set at the deepest level.

I leaned against the railing, looking at the fire, thinking about the artwork and the food we were given and the explorers and how we couldn't find them. I didn't realize tears were beginning to roll down my face, until Little Shit was holding a small vial to my face.

Collecting human tears. There's a part of me that thinks they don't collect tears for malicious purposes. I was too exhausted to get mad, so I stood there, crying and letting Little Shit gather up my tears in his vial. When his vial was full, he put a stopper in it, and began trotting away. Again, I followed, feeling myself want to give up. I can't give up. I have no reason to give up.

Little Shit went into a small room where another gas-mask creature was sitting at a wooden table with red gems scattered all over it. He held the vial out to his companion, and his companion took it, examining it before pulling out a small chest. A few minutes later, I was presented with a heart-shaped gem the size of a baby's hand, and inside of the gem were my tears.

I turned the gem over in my hands. "I have no idea what this means, but . . . thanks."

The two creatures purred. I felt like this was one of their ways of "inducting" me into their society. Lets me know that, yeah, there's life out here, and it's not all bad.

I heard a whistling behind me, and turned around to see one of the creatures holding Bishop's hand and seemingly dragging him along through this massive underground chamber.

"So, your little friend brought you down here as well," Bishop said upon seeing me.

I nodded, glancing back at the gem in my hand.

"It's almost like they're selective when it comes to how advanced they are."

"They've been left alone for a while, I guess. Nothing except some parasitic monster has tried to destroy them."

"Parasitic . . . monster?"

"You didn't see the cave paintings?"

Bishop sat in the tunnel for what felt like an hour, poring over the images of the war and the creatures' previous encounter with a human and android. He occasionally glanced at me, and at one point said, "Those explorers . . . may have met a fate worse than death."

"Explain," I replied.

"If this monster still exists here, it may have taken them and used them as hosts to produce more."

One of the gas-mask creatures shook his head, pointing to one of the images on the wall. It depicted ten of them taking apart the carcass of a large version of the monster seen earlier.

"Even if you kill the queen, another one can be born."

"You're not making any sense, Bishop," I said.

"What I'm trying to say, Drake, is that _if_ this monster alien is still out there, those explorers might be dead, or presently being used as hosts."

"But we don't know that." I felt the muscles in my body tense. "We've gotta look at everything like it's doomed, don't we? Why can't we think those explorers are hunkered down in a cave somewhere? Why can't we find out that they're closer than we think, and we can go find them and go home?!"

"Drake, we don't know-"

"You don't know _shit_ , do you?! You know absolutely _nothing_ about where we are, or you're hiding it from us because that's exactly what you were fucking programmed to do! We could've gotten more done with one of those Weyland-Yutani executives! At least I coulda beat the shit out of him to get him to talk! With you, I don't know what to do! You just stand there and stare at everything and act like you don't know anything and somehow you know that these _things_ -" I pointed at the gas-mask creatures, "can sense our auras and bond with us for life! Goddammit, Bishop, why can't you just tell us that you know about this mission being a failure?!"

"Because I don't know that this mission is going to be a failure." Bishop didn't look at all angry with me; in fact, he looked sorry for me. "Drake, no one knows if anything is going to be a failure. I know what has been programmed into me, and what I experience. Right now, I'm experiencing a man having a frustrated breakdown because things aren't going his way."

I couldn't swallow past the lump in my throat. Slumping against the wall, I struggled to resist the urge to sob. Tears began streaming down my cheeks, and I choked, "Bishop?"

"Yes?"

"Am I . . . Am I a failure . . . as a human being?"

"You're completely healthy. You're not over- or underweight. Your vision is excellent. You're not ill. You're-"

"Not physically!"

"Are you satisfied with yourself?"

"No."

Bishop hesitated before speaking again. "I would like to know how to answer your question without upsetting you, as you seem very upset already."

The gas-mask creatures began chirping and looking up at the ceiling. They crouched low to the ground, and then I heard what sounded like something or someone walking overhead, followed by an inhuman screech.


	4. Chapter 4

Whatever emotional issue I was having needed to become the last thing on my mind. What was above us? Was it in the campsite? Whatever tears were left to shed, I swallowed them back. My first priority was to make sure Vasquez and Hudson were OK . . . or was making sure Bishop was OK my first priority?

Maybe not. He was right there with me.

The little gas-mask creatures were about to go bonkers. They were letting out shrill squeals to each other, and I guessed that whatever was going on above us wasn't one of them. Looking around, I remembered I left my smartgun in my tent, and all I had was my pistol. _Come on, you're just thinking about the cave paintings. Little Shit and his gang got rid of whatever those monsters were . . . there's no way it's anything too dangerous out there. Probably just a bear._

Our hands were grabbed by the gas-mask creatures, and we were pulled deeper underground. They were very chatty, to say the least, and they got the entirety of their underground companions all fired up. I looked at Bishop. "Alright, smartass, what's wrong?"

"Something out there is threatening to them," Bishop replied.

"I can see that. You can give me a straighter answer than that, you-"

"Drake, now is not the time to be angry."

"What're you gonna do? Tell Apone?"

"Yes."

"It's not like I threatened you."

"Your actions right now might be threatening. You need to control your emotions and get your head in the situation before someone gets hurt."

"What do you want me to do?"

Gunshots rang out in some part of the underground chamber. I heard that shrieking again, and suddenly, the gas-mask creatures began pushing forward, and forcing us towards another tunnel. The group split up, with five creatures staying with me and Bishop, while others raced into separate tunnels.

Little Shit leapt on the wall of the tunnel, using his hand to wave out the torches. We stood in the dark, and the five creatures pushed us further down the tunnel. It was getting increasingly narrow, which told me we were getting close to the surface, but we stopped, laying really close together. I couldn't get a full breath of air in, and I wanted to push my way out, but I got the impression that we had to stay very, very still.

I heard something scratching, like claws in the dirt. I thought for a moment that it was one of the gas-mask creatures adjusting himself, but then I looked past them, seeing something darker than the darkness that had enveloped us. One of the creatures cooed, and I heard the click of a rifle bolt. Whatever-it-was in the darkness lunged, grabbing the leg of the smaller creature, and trying to pull him back. One shot was fired, and a horrendous screeching filled the tunnel. I grabbed Bishop, pressing him against my chest while using all the strength I had to crawl as fast as I could out of the tunnel. The entrance was covered in snow, but I shoved Bishop through the snow, after a quick and not-so-sincere, "Sorry."

He didn't seem to really mind, though later he would tell me that I could have been a bit more genuine in saying sorry.

All five of the gas-mask creatures made it out with us. They were running and turning behind them, aiming their rifles at the large, black monster forcing its way out of the tunnel. I pushed Bishop forward, shielding him with my own body. The monster looked exactly like the one in the cave paintings, with an elongated skull, no sign of eyes, sharp teeth, and that long, sharp tail.

Three gas-mask creatures, including Little Shit, began scrambling up the trees around us, while two of them ran around in circles, occasionally pausing to shoot the hulking monster. Even when a round pierced through it, this thing would keep trying to stab them with its tail.

Within seconds, the three gas-mask creatures dropped down from the trees, landing on top of the monstrous alien. Raising their bayonets, they drove them into the monster's skull and back, and the third one was trying to sever its tail. Greenish-yellow fluid sprayed, and the monster shrieked. I watched its blood hit the ground, and it burned through the snow. Over the course of the fight, I watched patches of frozen grass appear all around us. Little Shit was on the monster's head, mercilessly shoving his bayonet into it. He twisted it like a screwdriver, struggling to stand up as the monster tried to buck him off. At one point, he lifted his rifle high above his head, and smashed the butt of it against the monster's upper jaw. He began howling and squealing, and I couldn't tell if this was a war cry or him becoming frustrated.

The third creature had little luck, and I watched him be flung from the monster's tail, striking a tree, and laying in the snow, either dazed or dead. With something in a weakened state, the monster immediately tried going for that poor little guy, but Little Shit and his companion weren't going to let that happen. His companion grabbed onto one of the dorsal tubes on the monster's back, and drove his bayonet in the side of the alien's chest. The rifle was showered in acidic blood, and holes were burned in the smaller creature's gloves. He didn't give up, though, and pushed the knife deeper and deeper in.

" _Drake!_ "

I turned to see Vasquez and Hudson sprinting over to where I was standing with Bishop. Vasquez had her smartgun already equipped, and she yelled a couple of dirty Spanish words before unleashing a hail of fire into the monster before it was able to throw the two gas-mask creatures off.

"That is one big bug, man," Hudson said as the monster fell, acidic blood pooling and burning through what little snow was left around it. "Hey, Drake, we've been looking all over for you! You OK?"

I glanced over to catch a glimpse of four gas-mask creatures using their bayonets to tear the larger alien's body apart, then I looked back at Hudson. "I'm alright."

"You left your weapon in your tent, dumbass!" Vasquez shouted at me. "What's the matter with you?!"

"I didn't know this was going to happen! Little Shit here wanted to show me the big underground system his people live in, and then they start freaking out because this-this other thing was lurking around!"

"Dammit, Drake, you could've been killed!"

"Hey, everyone's alright," Bishop interrupted. "Let's not spend a lot of time getting upset at each other. Everything's been taken care of." He then looked over at where the other gas-mask creatures were gathered around the one who had been thrown from the large alien's tail.

I privately breathed a sigh of relief at the fact the little guy was alive, but from what I saw, it looked like he was paralyzed from the waist down. Bishop went over to them, and I again thought of the cave paintings, where it was described how they beat and tore apart one of the androids they encountered. They were so calm with Bishop, though. They let him pick up the paralyzed creature, despite its whining. A few seconds passed before it stopped whining, and put its arms around Bishop's neck.

At least Bishop was too busy to inform Vasquez and Hudson about my outburst earlier. I did have a bad feeling about whether or not that monstrous alien was once a worm emerging from the chest of one of the two explorers. Maybe there was another one that came from the other explorer. In that case, this mission would be a failure, and I would be a failure.

"We should just go home," I said.

"We can't until we find those explorers," Vasquez replied.

"Can we just admit that they're dead and leave this hellhole?" I started telling them about the cave paintings and the tunnels. Still, Vasquez looked at me like I was nuts and Hudson was staring at the desecrated carcass of the monster.

"You don't know if it's true that this thing came from one of the explorers," Vasquez said. "You're exhausted, Drake, and frightened, too. We're not leaving until we have some kind of confirmation. We're trying to rescue innocent people, not expensive equipment. If we have to blow up some bugs, then we'll do it." She pointed at Bishop. "Right now, Bishop's got more of a heart than you, and he doesn't even have one! What does that tell you?!"

"I'm not being heartless, I'm trying to-"

"You're trying to give up. We've only been here two standard days, and you're trying to give up. What's gotten into you? You were never this pessimistic last time."

I tried to walk away, but Vasquez grabbed my shoulder.

"Oh, no, Drake, there's no walking away from this! You better tell me what's going on, or I'm going to pop you in the jaw until you start talking!"

"Maybe I'd like you to do that," I taunted.

Well, she wasn't kidding. A second later, I found myself lying on the ground, pain throbbing throughout my face, and I could hear Little Shit giggling.

"Your right hook is getting better," I grunted.

"You're not being funny. You've been pissy ever since we dropped onto this snowball."

"Vasquez, can I punch him, too?" Hudson asked.

"Can you go away?"

Bishop walked over to us with the paralyzed gas-mask creature still in his arms. "All of you need to stop," he said. "All I've been hearing from each of you is yelling and frustration. If you must know, Drake said he's afraid of failure in this task."

"If you weren't company property, Bishop, I'd sock you right about now," I growled.

"Why? All I did was tell Vasquez the summary of what you were screaming at me earlier. I'm not all that convinced bottling up your emotions is healthy for you. Watching you the last two days seems to have proven that. Besides, you all have known each other longer than you know me. I'd think that would allow you to trust each other more." Bishop glanced at all us. "Am I wrong?"

"No, you're not wrong." My gaze switched to Vasquez, whose arms were folded over her chest, and she was glaring at me like I was both stupid and naughty. I looked at the ground before muttering an "I'm sorry for being pissy," that was a lot more sincere than the "Sorry" I gave Bishop before shoving him through a barrier of snow.

Vasquez seemed to accept that with a nod. "Alright, that wasn't so hard."

"By the way, no, I don't feel any better."

Little Shit squealed at me, pretending to rub his face in annoyance.

"Shut up. You took advantage of me and took my tears so your other friend could make jewelry out of it. I don't recall you trying to be helpful."

"He's probably more optimistic than you," Vasquez muttered.

"Oh, don't take his side. His brain is probably half the size of ours."

"Maybe, but he saved your ass while you were cowering with Bishop."

"I wasn't 'cowering;' I was protecting him."

"Alright, I don't think we're gonna do any rescuing standing around and having a lovers' spat," Hudson yelled. "Let's get the little guy to a hospital, and then let's see if we can some other little guys to help us look for those explorers. Drake ain't the only one who wants to go home."


	5. Chapter 5

Despite all the annoying things Little Shit has done (although, at this point, it's more of the issue of I don't understand a lot of what he's doing), I felt bad about one of his companions getting hurt. At least the creature wasn't in pain, but he wasn't going to feel anything below his waist ever again, and that brought up the question of how long these little guys live.

Bishop wasn't very helpful when it came to assisting us in getting the explorers, and I remembered overhearing someone telling him to "keep an eye out for alien life;" that was exactly what Bishop was doing, and here he had stumbled upon (or, more accurately, one of them stumbled upon him) a species that Weyland-Yutani had knowledge on.

Or did they? Was the human seen in the cave paintings able to send back the information gathered on these little gas-mask guys? I don't know. I shouldn't care. That's not my job.

Before getting together a search party, I found Bishop in the tunnel again, studying the cave paintings meticulously. I sat next to him, staring up at the ceiling.

"The Xenomorph," Bishop said, "That's probably why that man was here."

"Is that what the big thing is called?" I asked.

"I've heard the name, yeah. Company's been trying to get a specimen for years. I guess they sent someone here, and they found these little guys. It looks like the little things really take to humans, but not so much to androids."

"I bet it was one of those older models. You know, the ones you've called 'twitchy.'"

"Maybe. I wouldn't doubt it. I do wonder if anything was written on these small creatures before the man in the paintings was . . . killed."

I was quiet, and then looked up to see an image nestled in between the story of the war and the destruction of the android. In that image were three symbols-a lynx head, a hare head, and a polar bear head-surrounding a book. Around the symbols was the entire English alphabet, and around that were several random words and phrases. "Do you see that?" I asked.

Bishop leaned back to see what I was looking at. "'Learn,' 'fight,' and 'love.' They know English."

"Then why can't they speak it to us?"

"Maybe they can't. It's very possible that they can read it and understand it, but their vocal cords aren't built for a complex language."

"But they can scream and squeal and purr and all this other crap?"

"I didn't say that they don't have a complex language of their own. It's probably something that humans can't speak themselves."

"I can scream and make purring sounds if I want," I snorted.

"Maybe, but one wrong tone and you might insult someone's mother."

"Well, that just makes everything harder."

"No one said learning another language is easy, Drake." Bishop continued to examine the paintings on the ceiling. "This is a very intelligent species. They have their own culture, art, a language, and possibly a complex belief system."

"Where do you think they got the gas masks from?"

"I don't know. This might be something we have to come back to, someday. We should go see if Vasquez and Hudson worked out a plan to locate the missing explorers."

"I still think they might be dead."

Bishop turned to face me while standing up. "You're not going to let that go, are you?"

"No, I'm not. Either this Xenomorph thing came from one of the little gas mask goofballs or one of the explorers, and I'm betting it was one of the explorers."

"Why?"

"Because I don't think that these little guys would let _this_ -" I pointed to the artwork on the wall, "happen again. They've obviously seen it and what it can do and they're probably smart enough to not touch or just plain destroy these eggs."

"The best answer I can give you is that I don't know if that's true or not. Look, I'm not stupid. If I knew something was wrong, I'd tell you."

I found Little Shit standing outside one of the tunnels, gazing into it while holding a rifle. He looked up at me, and cooed. I leaned over and picked him up, letting him bump his helmet against my forehead. I wasn't entirely sure what I was doing, but I knew that I was wasting time.

Somehow . . . I didn't care. I was so tired and frustrated that I didn't care I was wasting time. "Hey, stupid," I said.

He touched my face, massaging my cheeks. His head tilted a little, and he gave a confused-sounding purr.

"What? I got something in my teeth?"

He shook his head, continuing to rub my cheeks.

I began to feel relaxed as he continued. I would later find out that they have heat in their gloves, which they use to calm the human they bonded with. "You keep right on doing that," I whispered. "Please."

Little Shit's purring got louder, and he pressed my cheeks a little harder.

Vasquez appeared around the corner, quietly observing me and the gas mask creature. She leaned against the wall. "Drake?"

I slowly turned my gaze to her. "What?"

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Literally. Nothing."

"Well, you have color in your face and your eyes are dilated. You look relaxed for once."

"I know, right?" I smiled. "You gotta get your little creature to do this."

"Drake, I need to talk to you."

"Go ahead."

" _Without_ your little friend."

I looked at Little Shit. Honestly, I wasn't ready for him to let go, but it was pretty obvious that he could understand us and he promptly let go of my face. Almost instantly, I lost that relaxed feeling. "Alright, Vasquez, what do you want?"

"Hudson and I contacted Apone about all this. He said he's sending Hicks down here to help us, and he said you need to 'get your shit together and don't even think about damaging Bishop.'"

"I'm not going to damage Bishop."

"I hope not, because we could get in a lot of hot water if we break him intentionally." Vasquez punched my arm. "The little guys have multiple search parties organized, and we're going to head out in a few hours, once Hicks arrives."

"What do we do till then?"

"We could-" She paused, interrupted by something crashing on one of the lower underground levels. We both peered over the railing, looking down at the fire and some of the lower levels.

I heard a horrific screeching, similar to what I had heard in my dream before we landed here. I couldn't tell if it was a gas mask creature or a Xenomorph. "Should we go see what that is?"

"Drake, I don't think we would be Marines if we were chickens. Grab your gun, I'll grab Hudson, and we'll go look."

"Really? You wanna grab Hudson? I thought we'd go look by ourselves."

"There's brave, and then there's stupid. Don't be stupid."

Followed by a party of seven gas mask creatures, Hudson, Vasquez, and I headed down to the third level of the underground, trying to investigate the source of the screeching and banging. Little Shit plodded ahead of me, holding his rifle, cooing and whistling. Occasionally, he paused, looking around, and then would keep walking.

"You know, I kinda wonder if these guys would make good pets," Hudson said out of nowhere.

"They are way too sentient to become pets," I replied, "although I don't think they'd care much. They do all the things we wish regular pets would do, and they're more loyal than dogs."

"Aww, Drake, I didn't know you'd want to take one of these little guys home." Vasquez smiled at me.

"I don't. I could never live with Little Shit for the rest of my life."

"But _he_ could live with _you_."

"Well, the feeling's not mutual, sweetheart."

"Hey, hold up," Hudson hissed. "Any of you guys hear a rumbling?"

I turned to face him. "That was my stomach, scaredy-cat. I haven't eaten anything in twelve hours."

We entered a tunnel that was about as wide as a four-lane highway. Much like the entrance tunnel, this one was also covered in artwork, but there weren't any depictions of Xenomorphs or androids being ripped apart. Instead, there were whales covering the ceiling and terrified-looking gas mask creatures covering the walls. There were paintings of glass chalices full of a purple liquid and tearful sacrifices of black-and-white hares. Next to the chalices were branches loaded with fat berries.

"Is this wine?" I asked.

Little Shit shook his head. He didn't stop for a single moment in the tunnel, only pausing to push open a partially rotted wooden door. Right at the door was a long spiral staircase, and it was soon made obvious that the stairs were not meant to hold full-grown humans.

I put one boot on a step, and heard some creaking. "Alright, let's go one at a time," I said, "just so this whole thing doesn't collapse."

"Maybe it's a good thing you haven't eaten in twelve hours," Hudson whispered.

"Well, what doesn't help is that we're carrying heavy weapons," Vasquez snapped at him.

"Hey, don't get upset with me, man, I'm just pointing shit out."

Little Shit had already trotted down the stairs, and was waiting for me at the bottom. I was going painfully slow, each creak and groan of the stairs sending more adrenaline throughout my body, until I came to an area about fifteen feet from the bottom. A step gave way, my left leg was stuck, and I quickly realized one of the many reasons we wear cups.

"Drake, are you OK?" Vasquez asked.

I looked up at her. "I'm OK. My jewels are OK. Thank God for cups."

Hudson covered his mouth, trying not to laugh.

I pulled myself out of the collapsed step, only to have the rest of the step break away completely. With nothing to hold myself up, I fell through, finding myself laying on my back with my smartgun on top of me.

Little Shit stood over me, laughing and chirping.

"See? This is why I'm not taking him home," I grunted.

I'm not sure how far we were from the surface, but I knew that it must have taken forever for this tunnel system to be made, and maybe there were more under construction. Worse yet was that I had no idea where we were going.

I had a gut feeling that we weren't just investigating the source of the screeching, we were _following it. We hadn't seen anything apart from dirt, stone, and more fucking dirt._

And an underground river.

The chamber the river was in seemed to amplify and echo everything; the walls were lined with bright, blue lights. The gas mask creatures walked ahead, and then some of them stood perfectly still. I could see their chests rising and falling rapidly. They sniffed the air, and then they began moving a dark room on the other side of the chamber.

The dark room had the same lights as the water chamber, but they were further spread apart, creating a dim effect. Little Shit looked up at me, purring, and I honestly wished I had some kind of clue as to what he was trying to say.

Up until now, the air smelled cold and earthy. A much warmer scent was coming from another section of the room, and it made the gas mask creatures almost go nuts. They gathered around the entrance to yet another massive underground chamber, putting the sights of their rifles to the eyepieces of their masks. They remained still, until one of them hissed, and slowly ventured into the room.

I peered in the room, following close behind the gas mask creatures as they surrounded a man lying on the floor, curled up, appearing asleep.

"Is that . . . one of the explorers?" Vasquez asked.

"Gotta be. I don't think there are any other humans on this frozen wasteland," I said.

I was about to prod the man awake when he suddenly grabbed my chestplate, yanking me close so he could gasp, "Are you friendly?!"

"Hey, take it easy!" I snapped, pulling his hands off. "Yes, we're friendly."

I had seen people traumatized before, and this wouldn't be my last. His eyes were wide, he stank of sweat, vomit, and excrement. His face was stained with tears, and his eyes were red. There were rips and tears in his clothing, and he was shivering badly. "Get me outta here, please," he stammered. "They did something to my partner . . . something that . . . made a _thing_ come out his chest!" He couldn't talk anymore, breaking off gasping and crying while gripping my arm.

I wasn't sure how to feel. One explorer was dead, the other was alive and scarred for life. Did I fail?

Or did I still have a chance to at least get one man out before shit hit the fan for him?

Little Shit and his companions were crawling all over the explorer. One of them was holding his face while the others appeared to be sniffing him. They were somewhat calm, I noted, and they didn't jump or squeal. Eventually, they moved away, allowing Hudson to carefully help the explorer stand up.

"We need to get him aboveground, ASAP," I said. "Hudson, you take him. Vasquez, we're gonna continue looking for whatever was making that screeching sound earlier."

"Apone said you two aren't allowed to be alone together," Hudson whispered.

I shrugged. "We got Little Shit to watch us."

Little Shit perked up, shriek-chirping at me.

As soon as Hudson left, I pointed my finger at the happy little gas mask creature. "You say anything, I swear I will make you cry."

Little Shit clapped, and ran over to me, climbing up my leg and wrapping himself around my torso.

"Did you understand _a word_ of what I said? I said I was gonna make you cry if you tell anyone I was alone with Vasquez."

"Maybe they like crying," Vasquez sighed. "Drake, it's not like we do anything . . . out of the ordinary whenever we're alone together."

"That's not what the CO at boot camp thought."

"Well, that CO is not here." Vasquez grabbed my chin and shook my head. "We are on our own here, just like we were when we snuck out of boot camp."

Little Shit let out this gross-sounding snort, and then laughed.

Trailed by six gas mask creatures, Vasquez and I ventured further into the tunnels that made up these beings' home. I wasn't sure how far underground we were, and I wasn't sure if we had gone deeper or were staying on the same level, and I hoped I wouldn't develop any kind of déjà vu from this.

"We know one explorer is alive and the other was used as a host. I really hope that was the only Xenomorph around," I muttered.

"You can hope all you want, Drake, it's not gonna do anything," Vasquez replied. "Right?"

"Of course you're right. I don't think you've ever been wrong."

"You're just saying that."

"No, I'm not. I'm-"

Little Shit started chirping, which led his companions to start chattering and squeaking. I adjusted my grip on my smartgun, and aimed it in the direction of whatever the gas mask creatures were excited about. I was tensed and poised to shoot, until I saw Bishop emerge from a tunnel near us. With a sigh of both relief and annoyance, I hissed, "Dammit, Bishop, I could've shot you!"

"But, you didn't," Bishop replied. "Hudson informed me that the two of you were down here alone, so I volunteered to go after you."

"We're not children!" Vasquez exclaimed.

"I know. I'm only following the sergeant's orders." Bishop looked around. "The good news is that the explorer who's still alive isn't infected, but he's not saying anything to anyone about what happened here."

"What does any of this mean? Are we free to go? We got one of them. Isn't this mission complete?" I asked.

Bishop didn't answer me right away. He was flicking his gaze between me and the gas mask creatures, still silent.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, forcing it into a knotted ball of rage in my stomach. "We're not done? Bishop-"

Vasquez grabbed my shoulder. "It's not his fault, Drake!"

" _I don't care that it isn't his fault! We've been on this icy rock for too long! We got at least one of the Goddamn explorers, and we coulda saved the other one if we weren't busy fucking around with-" In my fit, I slapped Little Shit's helmet, knocking him over, "these little sons-of-bitches who fawn over us like we're gods or something! Why couldn't you just ignore them, Bishop?! Why couldn't you?!"_

Bishop stared at me, uncertain of what to say. Little Shit was also looking at me, making no sounds at all


	6. Chapter 6

No one ever said that the good people in the world are nice guys. Most good people are antiheroes in their own right, myself included.

"Good" is a bit of a muddied definition. It depends on the person. I'm kinda pushing its meaning. For one thing, I've been to prison, my emotions can be all over the place, and I just punched a little animal that has done nothing but love me ever since I met him.

OK, he has been annoying on occasion, and it's not like he's a kitten or a puppy or a baby bunny. Hell, I don't know what's under his helmet. He could be something that's really fucking ugly.

Still, I went too far in hitting Little Shit. I knew it. Vasquez knew it, and even Bishop had some idea that what I did was wrong.

Vasquez straight up punched me, demanding to know why I smacked Little Shit. I couldn't really blame her for doing that, and, then again, we've gotten into worse fights in the past. I mean, we always make up in the end, but, still.

She also told me that my moodiness has been getting out of hand, and she was about to wrap her hands around my throat to throttle me when Bishop stepped in between us.

"Do I need to radio Apone right now and tell him that you two are fighting? Do I need to treat the two of you like children?" Bishop asked, flicking his gaze between us, before settling on me. "Drake, you are clearly becoming impossible to your comrades."

"Wow, I didn't realize that, genius. I know I'm impossible! I've always been impossible! What do you want me to be?! A _pushover?!"_

"No, we don't want you to be a pushover!" Vasquez shouted. "No one wants you to be a pushover! You're one of the toughest Marines we have, and here you are hitting animals and getting upset that we can't go home!"

"I want to put this mission behind me!" I yelled back. "We went into this poorly. Bishop knew there were dangerous things here-"

"No, I didn't," Bishop said. "I had no idea there were any kinds of life here, let alone an entire civilization! Not to mention I had no idea there were Weyland-Yutani scientists here trying to collect a Xenomorph specimen!"

"Did you?! Then why did you just walk off with one of Little Shit's companions when he approached you repairing our comms?!"

"It's part of my _duties_ to analyze alien life! It's no Xenomorph, but it's still something we've had limited contact with."

"At the expense of the explorers' lives? Does your _programming_ to study alien life override your programming to make sure no harm comes to any human?" I drew in a breath, my chest tight with anger. "I've seen other androids and how defective they were, and I honestly thought you were made to be better. I actually believed you when you said you couldn't allow a human to get hurt! I actually thought that would allow us to get this mission done faster and with less difficulty! There's more than just physical harm that can come to us! You're nothing more than a barely sentient robot, _you have no idea what emotions are! You can't feel a damn thing! I've been feeling like a failure ever since we stepped into the campsite, and you didn't say one fucking word!"_

When you yell at someone, generally, they flinch. Bishop didn't flinch. He wasn't afraid, or nervous, or anything. He couldn't convey anything.

But he was looking at me like he had done something wrong, and, to this day, I don't know why I was getting . . . a _guilty_ impression from him.

"Drake, I'm sorry."

I wasn't entirely sure how to respond to Bishop saying "sorry." I couldn't tell if he was being genuine-how could he be genuine? He doesn't . . . have a soul.

"Drake, I'm sorry I couldn't better see your frustration and try to help you."

Vasquez touched my shoulder. "Just accept his apology."

"How can I accept his apology? How do I even know it's an apology?" I asked.

"I'm not having another argument with you. Not when shit has hit the fan and we're only bringing one explorer home! Do you have any idea that _we're_ the ones who have to tell the dead man's family what happened?"

"Yeah, well, someone should've told both of them that this place is dangerous and no one should be coming here for any reason. It's that simple."

"It's not like we can change the past, dammit! Just accept Bishop's apology and move on! And apologize to your little friend while you're at it."

I looked at Little Shit. "Well? If I apologize to you, are you gonna accept it?"

Little Shit began muttering to himself. He unslung his rifle, and, for a moment, I thought he was going to shoot me, but, instead, he trotted up to me and whacked my hip with the butt of his rifle before screaming at me.

I honestly didn't think that was going to hurt so much, but it hurt beyond all belief. I crumpled to the ground, grabbing my hip in pain.

"I will admit, you kinda deserved that," Vasquez said.

"Are you alright?" Bishop asked.

"I just got smacked with a rifle! How do you think I feel?!" I grunted.

"Would you like to be escorted to-"

" _No!_ Vasquez's right; I deserved that. Little Shit, I'm sorry."

Making some kind of snuffling sound, Little Shit walked over to me, crawling on my side.

I figured this was humiliating enough, and glanced up at Bishop while still holding my hip. "And I accept your apology, Bishop. I'll try not to be too much of an ass the rest of this mission. Also . . . Vasquez, I'm sorry for not . . . for not being in control of my emotions."

Vasquez sighed, observing Little Shit perching on me. "Drake, outside the Marines, I don't care what you do with your emotions. Inside the Marines, you shove it down your throat."

It didn't take very long for Apone to hear about my outburst, and he stated that I was "most certainly" going to be punished as soon as this mission was over.

". . . First, you threatened to damage company property. Second, you and Vasquez disobeyed my orders not to venture out alone together, and, third, you assaulted an ally of ours. Yes, Private, I am considering these little aliens to be allies," Apone growled over the radio. "That explorer was in their tunnel system, and without them, we probably wouldn't have found him. You oughtta be thankful that Bishop encountered them, or else we would've been here a lot longer than we should be."

I've been punished before, for minor things. I think this was probably going to be the worst so far, but I didn't have to worry about it until we went home.

I caught a glimpse of the surviving explorer when we went back to the dropship. He had been strapped down to a stretcher, being attended to by Bishop.

Honestly, I don't know how to describe the fact that even though the man is safe, physically, I feel bad. We couldn't get to him sooner, and we couldn't save his partner. I didn't become a Marine to fail. This . . . This job is practically all I have.

Hicks, Hudson, and a couple other Marines went out with a scouting party of gas mask creatures to make sure their home was safe. I stayed behind on Apone's orders, left to basically stew in fermenting emotions. About an hour passed before Apone joined me, sitting on a crate next to the dropship hatch.

"There's a big difference between failing and quitting, Drake," he said, breaking a silence I hoped didn't become uncomfortable. "Bishop told me that was something bothering you this whole time. How come?"

"I dunno," I sighed. "I . . . had a bad dream . . . right before we came here."

"Yeah? What kind of dream?"

"I was . . . just slogging through the snow, with everything weighing me down . . . and I heard a lot of screeching."

"Well, it was either a coincidence, or it really was some kind of premonition. I don't see why it would lead you to think you're failing, though. I've noticed you don't talk to anyone unless it's to directly insult them to their face."

"I went to prison. That's how I communicated in prison. It stuck with me when I went to boot camp."

"Hey, prison's different from the Corps, Drake. I know you and Vasquez don't have anyone anymore, and maybe Weyland-Yutani made a good choice in allowing you guys in. You seem to want to turn yourselves around, channel yourselves into something more productive, you know what I mean?"

I nodded.

"We all have moments where we utilize the wrong emotion, and it doesn't make you a failure. You didn't need to get mad at Bishop. Hell, you don't even need to get mad at yourself." Apone shrugged. "It happens. I'm just glad your actions didn't get anyone killed."

"That's my problem. I feel like we could've gotten both explorers if we didn't waste time with these little guys."

"Drake, we have no control over the weather, no control over these 'little guys,' and we certainly don't want to be bringing home some alien parasite." Apone looked at me. "You understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, sir."

"Lots of shit out there you can't control, and don't you dare try to control it."

"I get it." I glanced at him. "Am I still being punished?"

"You bet your ass you are."

Little Shit was staring up at me as I followed Vasquez into the dropship. I couldn't see exactly what was on his face, but I felt like he was sad I was leaving.

Sighing, I stepped off the dropship, opening my arms. "Come here."

Squeaking, he raced into my arms, gripping me tightly. I held him for way longer than I should have, still trying to make myself feel better. Little Shit cooed, and bumped his helmet against my cheek.

"I can't take you home with me," I whispered. "This place is your home, and God only knows what those Weyland-Yutani execs would want done with you." I patted his helmet. "Just . . . stay here, OK? Maybe I'll visit on a better time."

Little Shit purred and squeaked.

I set him down. "So long, buddy. You're annoying, but . . . hey, you and your friends saved our asses. You're tough little guys. Don't worry; I still got that jewel of tears you gave me."

Tilting his head, Little Shit snorted and moaned, then touched his chest, and pointed at me.

I could only guess that meant "I love you," in the way that a pet loves its master, but I still felt like these little creatures were too sentient and advanced to be pets.

Unless it was a part of their culture. They seemed to yearn for human contact, human touch. They seemed to want to be a part of someone's life, to make them happy. That thought made me feel somewhat bad for leaving Little Shit, but, like I said, this was his home and he should stay. I gave him one last pat on his helmet before climbing aboard the dropship.

Strapping herself in, Vasquez glanced at me, saying, "You're not taking your little friend with you?"

I shook my head. "Nah. I told him to stay. I think he understands. Or, at least, I _hope_ he understands."

When we boarded our transport home, I ran into Bishop as we left the docked dropship. I still felt like I needed to do more in terms of accepting his apology, but I wasn't sure what. With that in mind, I approached him, saying, "You think that explorer's gonna make a full recovery?"

"Physically, yes, he will, but . . . he needs to be attended to by human doctors. He's showing all the signs of post-traumatic stress, and that's not something an android can help with." Bishop turned back to the dropship to push the gurney holding the explorer into the medical wing.

"Hey, if you were able to apologize to me, genuinely, I think . . . I think you could help him."

"You can't be serious, Drake, after all you've done-"

"I am serious."

Bishop seemed to be thinking, and then looked at me like he had considered everything I said. "I'll see what I can do. Oh, by the way, you didn't happen to sneak one of those little creatures on board, did you?"

I shook my head. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason. I'm going to go through some of the Weyland-Yutani databases on our way home, see if anyone has submitted research on them. I doubt it, considering the company's been focused mainly on the Xenomorph."

"How come? The gas-mask things are civilized; the Xenomorph . . . doesn't seem civilized."

"Drake, unfortunately, the reasons for their focus on the Xenomorph is classified to you due to your rank."

I bit my lip. Honestly, I had thought that Bishop would trust me, but then I remembered that's not entirely possible in androids. "Alright, suit yourself," I mumbled, unable to find something better to say.

"Not my decision. I'm sorry."

I turned to walk toward the mess hall, covering up my disappointment with a smirk. I knew I shouldn't be happy; the higher-ups were going to literally kick my ass back home for what I did, and I could only hope I didn't get kicked out of the Corps.


End file.
